Day 1 (11/11/00) – en route to Bochum

…well, here we are on tour with Soulfly! I remember seeing Sepultura at the marquee many, many years back! If I could go back and meet myself at the queue outside and explain that this tour would be happening in 2000 I wonder what I would have said. Bloody hell probably. And, Christ what happens to my hair!

Anyway, the first date of the tour was cancelled. Not sure why, but it was, so we don’t get to return to Hamburg. So first stop is Bochum.

We collect the van from a garage in Nottingham and are overcome with waves of happiness as we stroke the new inverter that promises us power. Things might be different on this tour (and the diary might be considerably shorter if I have properly interesting things to do).

We zoom down to Dover in record time and then sit for four sodding hours at the dock waiting for the ferry. Another atrocious crossing beckons but I have come prepared with dramamine – a super drug for travel sickness. Happily for me it also induces sleep, so I am able to bypass the entire tortuous journey.

We hit French soil and I immediately head for bed. George drives on.

 

Day 2 (12/11/00) – Bochum, Germany - Zeche

Awake to find George still driving. Hope he has been to bed at some point. British weather still with us, so beautiful panoramic views somewhat obscured by rain and general greyness. After a ludicrous tour of the town of Bochum (we have no tour itinerary and have no idea where we are going), we eventually make our way to Zeche.

Soulfly and Glassjaw are already here and they have a pretty impressive set-up. 3 nightliner buses, an artic lorry and a merch van! We park alongside them in our glorified transit van and feel inconsequential.

We need to meet the tour manager and the German promoter to get our bearings. So we head into the venue. It is very cool. Big place. Lots of levels.

We bump into the German promoter. He informs us that he didn’t know we were on the tour until the day before. We are not on any advertising. ‘Are you expecting to get paid’ he asks. ‘Errr, yes’ we reply. ‘Ohhh’ he says.

‘Are we getting our rider?’ is our next query.

‘You have a rider?’ he counters.

‘Oh fuck.’ We grimace.

‘Errr, I’m sure I can sort something.’

‘2 of us are vegan and 3 are vegetarian.’

‘Oh fuck.’

The conversation follows this blueprint for several minutes. We go back to our van to lick our wounds.

Next job is to have our photos taken for our passes. We cue up with Glassjaw (who all seem really cool) outside one of the tourbuses and prepare our most idiotic expressions to ensure a sad historical document of this tour.

Once this is done we load our stuff into the venue and watch Soulfly soundcheck. They appear to be somewhat good!

Glassjaw and us are sharing gear and a soundman (the farcically haired Andrea) and so we set-up onstage. As we are on first we get a soundcheck (Glassjaw are going to line check each night). Tonight seems cool. Good monitors, plenty of space. Feels good.

Doors open soon after we finish checking and the most insane number of people flood the venue. The show is very sold out. Each time we venture outside we are besieged by loons wanting to buy our passes (even though they have photos on!).

We are on half an hour after the venue opens so we prepare ourselves quickly. As we wander onto the stage we are shocked to see a packed venue. And I mean packed. Of course the attendant hordes are screaming out acapella versions of Soulfly tunes, so there is no confusion about who they are here to see. But still, it is a pleasant sight.

We kick off and blast through a thirty minute set. It flys by and feels good. We get a good response and life is on the up. I am amazed to see a small pit at the front of the stage. These Germans are crazy.

As the dying notes of Withered ring out we immediately set about packing our gear down. We have but one crewmember on this tour, so there is no pretension. All hands to the deck when called. Fuck it – it’s punk rock.

Once the van is loaded we head for the venue’s restaurant and grab our meal (our German chum has done his work). Karl appears at the table looking slightly milky. One of Soulfly’s crew has informed him that Max would like him to get onstage and sing Chino’s part on Pain. Karl doesn’t know the song too well. He wanders off to find the singer from Glassjaw who will also be contributing. They have until tomorrow to learn it. They grow scared together. We, of course, laugh.

And in a frightening display of instant karma we find our van has stopped working when we return to it after the meal. It just won’t start. We call out an emergency technician. Wind on four hours. Everyone is in bed except Simon and I. It is 4.30am and our man has just arrived. He speaks very little English. He tapes up a part of the engine and manages to explain that this will get us back to England.

‘But we are on a month long tour!’ we counter, ‘We need this van to be working!’

He tells us to stay in Bochum and visit a Mercedes-Benz workshop in the morning.

We crash out with fear in our minds.

 

Day 3 (13/11/00) – Frankfurt, Germany - Batschknapp

The morning is spent discussing the finer points of our vans innards with another german mechanic. George (our driver and all round crew man) eventually persuades the chap to lead us to a garage where they can actually change the knackered part. It is 12pm. Today’s gig is looking unlikely.

Half an hour later and we are in a Mercedes-Benz workshop. They give us meal vouchers!!! We enter their restaurant and have a plate of chips and a can of drink on our teutonic chums. German efficiency never tasted so good.

The thought of missing the gig is tempered slightly by having a full stomach and we begin to resign ourselves to driving straight to Munich.

But after an apologetic call to Big Red (Soulfly’s tour manager, and therefore for the duration of this tour, God) we are informed that we have until 7pm to make it to the venue.

George jams his baseball cap on backwards, tells us to ‘strap ourselves in’, and wheelspins out of the garage. And would you believe it, he gets us to Batschknapp not only on time, but early!!! What a guy.

The venue is slightly smaller than yesterdays so we all fear for our safety. Once the gear is loaded in we attempt a stealth mission on the solitary dressing room. Like gannets we attack the scraps left over from the breakfast buffet. Beggars most definitely cannot be choosers. Once satiated from this feast of stale bread and wooden cheesy crisps, we head for the stage and our blip-vert soundcheck.

The doors open at 8pm and by 8.05 the venue is so full that bouncers are employing crowbars to cram extra people in.

We kick off at 8.30 to a sea of bodies. This is totally mad. The reaction is really cool. Tat Twam Asi actually gets a cheer of recognition. Considering the ferociously loyal nature of Soulfly’s fans we are amazed at the attention we are afforded. These Germans are very polite.

Karl has been told to mention who we are (repeatedly) as we are not on the advertising. So he concludes every song with the phrase ‘thanks, and by the way we are earthtone9’. Before we finish with Evil Crawling I a lone voice reminiscent of Arnie Schwarznegger drifts from the crowd. "Who are you?".

Karl looks incredulous, "Earthtone9. Haven’t I said it enough?"

"What?" the voice replies, "Spell it."

"E.A.R.T.H.T.O.N.E.9…. is that fucking clear enough for you?"

We play Evil Crawling I. We finish with a dead-stop and begin to pack down our gear. The same voice drifts from the audience…

"Man, your last song ruled."

He was obviously not offended by Karl’s rude reply earlier. (Either that or he didn’t understand that either).

Once our equipment is back in the van we head for the venue’s restaurant and grab our meal for the day. It is an amazing vegan casserole. We bask in the glow of another great gig. All except Karl. Karl has been reminded by Soulfly’s crew that Max wants him to sing part of Pain tonight. Karl is scared. He retires to the bus to ‘do his homework’. We drink quality German beer.

George and I head for the venue to watch Soulfly. We shoehorn ourselves in at the back. Max and Co. are on fire. The venue seems to bounce up and down as one entity. It is quite a sight.

After an hour of mayhem Max tells us that ‘his friends from earthtone9 and Glassjaw are gonna help on the next song’. A wired looking Karl and a wirey looking Darryl (Glassjaw frontman) enter stage right. Pain begins. Karl looks pumped (or frightened) – hard to tell.

It gets to our man’s verse and he lets rip. It sounds cool. All three vocalists scream out the chorus. Very intense. Karl celebrates his achievement by stripping his shirt off to reveal a scrawled message on his chest. It says ‘Earthtone9 – fuck you’. He displays it and launches himself into the pit. It is mayhem. Cool end to a cool gig.

We jump in the van and head for Munich.

 

Day 4 (14/11/00) – Munich, Germany – Metropolis

Joe and George wake us up to explain that we are in a service station that has showers. We head in and have a much needed soak. Everyone feels much better.

Another brief drive and we arrive at a weird industrial estate come entertainment complex. We park up and acquaint ourselves with the venue. Pretty nifty place. Stage a little smaller than the previous shows, but still gargantuan in comparison to what we are used to.

Soulfly’s crew are setting up so we decide to explore. Dave, Si and I find a basketball hoop on the outside of a neighbouring building. We take our tour football and go for a quick game. 30 seconds later it becomes apparent that we are monumentally unfit. Sad state of affairs. We persevere though and continue to embarrass ourselves with stunning displays of basketball ineptitude.

Once the novelty of this wears off we move onto football (in the kickabout – jumpers for goalposts fashion). As we play we notice a camera crew moving down towards us. We collect the ball and move out of shot. They film a conversation between two characters walking down the road. Once they pass we resume playing.

Minutes later one of the crew runs up to us and says that they have to film a few more passes of the same scene and would we mind continuing to play footie because it looks pretty cool. His only stipulation is that we don’t kick the ball directly at the camera (or cameraman for that matter)!

And so it happens that we find our way onto some German soap opera.

After this brief flirtation with fame we head back to the venue for our soundcheck. It’s a pretty cavernous venue so Andrea is fighting to control the sound. We are still working on it with 10 minutes till doors. At which point (and this will be no surprise to regular readers) Joe’s amp explodes.

Mayhem ensues. We continue trying to achieve a sound consistent with a band playing, and Joe grovels with Glassjaw’s people in order to blag another amp. This is getting to be a bad habit.

As always we are rescued through the good nature and kind disposition of others and by the time we are due on stage we have a working set-up.

Perhaps unsurprisingly we are not as fired up as usual tonight. We give it our best shot and the crowd gradually warms to Karl’s trademark idiosyncratic British sarcasm. Considering the events that have preceded the gig it goes surprisingly well.

Afterwards we retire to the restaurant area for a feed. Karl does his ‘guest appearance’ thang and we load-up our van. After Soulfly have left and the venue is being cleaned we venture into the dressing room and grab all the remaining food and drink. No room for pride on this tour.

Fresh from our scavenging mission we head for the bus and entertain ourselves with a Jackie Chan film and some beer.

Another pleasant evening.

 

Day 5 (15/11/00) – Stuttgart, Germany – Longhorne

Awake to hear Si and Karl discussing the inverter (our power source and all-round holy grail). My sleep addled brain is compus mentus enough to register the words ‘It’s fucked’. It transpires that one of our educationally challenged party has left the plug in while a landline was powering the bus. This, as we all knew, would fry the inverter. We now have no power for the remainder of the tour. Don’t it just get better and better. Sometimes I feel like it would be better to share a bus with a group of chimpanzees. We request a new inverter is sent out to us.

To add insult to injury we also have to find our way to a dealership for Joe’s amp. We have been promised a quick repair but we still need to get to the place and it is miles away from the venue.

In order to give us the best shot of actually doing the gig George drops Dave, Si and I off at the venue with the gear. He then takes to the high road with Karl and Joe (Karl has to go because all the fuel and expenses go on his credit card).

The attending party wander the ludicrously mammoth venue with fear in their hearts. The balcony serves as a restaurant (and dressing room for us) and is covered in posters of previous shows. Alice In Chains, Rage Against The Machine, Tool, Anthrax…. We are in impressive company. This is pretty close to doing an arena show.

The days events are hardly worth documenting. We sat. We ate. I read. We set our gear up. We wondered if the others would make it back in time. We sound-checked as a 3-piece and did our best to prep the monitor man to our requirements.

Joe, Karl and George eventually rolled up five minutes before doors with a new amp in tow. We prepared to play!!!

In retrospect perhaps we shouldn’t have bothered. The monitor man had seen fit to blast karl’s vocals through the wedges at a volume roughly equivalent to a thermonuclear detonation. And Joe broke a string on the first chord! And every time we stopped a bass hum from hell permeated the stage.

Eventually Karl had to drop his mic to the ground and rush the monitor man. It made very little difference.

On the plus side we only had to do a 30 min set, so the pain was short-lived.

Let’s write this one off shall we.

 

Day 6 (16/11/00) – Chemnitz, Germany – Talshock

We have trouble finding the venue today. The itinerary fails to list an address, so we try our luck just driving round. Not surprisingly this fails totally. We concede and phone Big Red.

Big Red expresses shock that we were not informed that the venue had moved. So in addition to not having the address, we didn’t even have the right venue name.

With all the pertinent details at our fingertips we make it to the Sudbahnhof unmolested. There is an amazing spread of breakfast foods laid out. We attack.

Once satiated we wander the venue. It is a weird concrete barn – build around a converted railway station. The sound is a bit messy, but once Soulfly’s massive crowd squeeze into the venue it is likely to get absorbed pretty well.

We set-up to soundcheck. Andrea calls for me to blast a few chords of guitar. My amp blows up. Yep, regular readers will recall that my trusty amplifier died on the Pitchshifter tour and I was forced to finish the dates using a rig donated by PSI. Well, I got a replacement to take on this tour while mine was fixed and, lo, it died right before my eyes on stage in Chemnitz.

I am beyond even depression. We take the bastard to pieces and discover that an internal fuse has blown. No-one has any spares. I borrow a rig from Glassjaw. However the time we have taken to check my own amp means that I cannot check the sound or level of the borrowed equipment until we go onstage. Kind of like a blind date with the potential for maximum embarrassment frighteningly high.

We are forced to reconsider our setlist as my borrowed amp has no clean sound! We decide to wing it.

As we kick off I Nagual Eye I am blasted back across the stage (like Michael J Fox in Back To The Future) by the volume of Joe’s guitar in my monitor. Leaning forward at a 45° angle I battle my way back to the front of the stage.

It is two songs later before I am able to tell the monitor man that I need some adjustments to my wedge! As soon as he makes the correction I am able to hear that my own guitar sound is way too quiet. I turn it up. It feeds back through the next song.

I adjust it again and we attempt Tat Twam Asi. I have to use the front pickup on low volume for a clean sound. This is not really working.

As I have mentioned before – having a 30 minute set can be a real blessing sometimes. I come offstage about as unhappy as it is possible to be.

Ironically the audience give us a warm response and proceed to buy loads of merch. Ahh, the fickle nature of the beast that is an audience.

We leave for Berlin.

 

Day 7 (17/11/00) – Berlin, Germany - Columbia Halle

The venue here is huge. Basically an arena. We were due to play the (slightly) smaller venue opposite but ticket sales were so good it got moved up to the Columbia Halle. We stare in awe at the place. The stage is bigger than many of the venues we have played.

Reiner (the rep for the German promoter) promises to get some fuses for my amp today. We look like being back on course.… and never were we further from the truth. The preceding events were soon to look like nothing more than tiny ripples on a sea of tranquillity.

Just to set the scene. While talking to some of Soulfly’s drivers earlier on in the tour we had been informed that getting into both Poland and Switzerland could be extremely problematic. We explained that we had been pre-warned and were ready for it. They said, ‘So you have your Green Card?’

We said, ‘What?’

They said, ‘You know – insurance document. You can’t get in without that and your vehicle registration.’

‘Oh – we haven’t got a Green Card OR our vehicle registration!’

‘Well, you’re screwed then!’.

So we had spoken to the company that we hired the van from and they had organised to courier the required stuff to Berlin. Of course, they were also couriering out a new inverter to the same destination.

In addition to these deliveries we were also expecting a new mobile phone for me (mine had taken a beating and was basically knackered), and a load of stickers and flyers to distribute at the shows.

All of this stuff was being sent to Gero (our marketing rep in Germany) and he was bringing it to the show.

So as we stepped onstage to begin our soundcheck I was slightly perturbed to receive a call from our label saying… ‘I’m sorry to say that NOTHING has arrived with Gero.’

Not ‘One of the parcels is missing’, not ‘Something is going to be late’, simply ‘NOTHING HAS ARRIVED’!

Half an hour later and we had a better picture of what had happened. The mobile and stickers had gone normal air mail a week ago and had just failed to appear. The vehicle documents had gone guaranteed 24hr delivery with DHL and had somehow missed their flight. DHL said they were sorry and, by the way, we don’t deliver at the weekend so you cannot have your stuff until Monday.

Oh, and the inverter had been sent direct from the manufacturers via courier, but no-one knew which courier and the company was shut until Monday.

Oh, and indeed, fuck.

We ascertained fairly quickly that we had no way of making the next two shows – Warsaw and Vienna. So the two countries that most of us had never visited would remain un-visited for a little longer.

While we soundchecked George asked the venue owners if we could park our bus in their VIP carpark (which is roughly the size of a football pitch) for the weekend. They said no. This meant that we had to stay in Berlin until Monday (3 days) with no power. No money. No place to park. No toilet facilities. No heat and quite possibly no will to live.

I have had better days.

Oh, and my fuses turned up AFTER the soundcheck. So we still don’t know if my amp is fucked!?!?

We blasted through the set in front of an audience about size of a small country. It felt like we achieved something positive. The response was good and it was an experience to play to such an immense crowd.

Once we came off we huddled in the dressing room and plotted. However the constant barrage of bad luck and shitty karma had blunted our problem solving skills somewhat and we resorted to drinking beer and moaning.

As the evening drew to a close we hit upon a solution. We would book a room in a nearby hotel and use the parking facilities there. At least we could grab a shower and use the toilet. So that, my friends, is what we did.

 

Day 8 (18/11/00) – Berlin, Germany - stranded

Drank coffee. Played computer games. Felt cheated that we were going to miss out on some great shows. Slept.

 

Day 9 (19/11/00) – Berlin, Germany – still stranded

Drank coffee. Played computer games. Walked into Berlin. Eat falafel. Saw sobering war memorials. Felt cheated that we were going to miss out on some great shows. Slept.

 

Day 10 (20/11/00) – Berlin, Germany – on the road again

Had breakfast in the East Side Hotel (which incidentally is beautiful and warm and friendly and situated right opposite the only remaining part of the Berlin wall). We were expecting a call from Gero to confirm delivery of all our required items, so we were ready for a much-needed departure from Berlin. Of course, nothing in the world of et9 ever goes smoothly to plan – and this was no exception.

By 11am we had received no phone call so we tried Gero’s mobile. No answer. We called our label and asked them to a) call Gero’s office and b) check with DHL that everything had been sorted.

At approximately midday Jose called back and said, ‘DHL have guaranteed a 10am delivery for the vehicle documents but they won’t actually arrive until about 1pm. Gero has received an ‘attempted delivery’ card for your mobile phone, but it won’t be available for collection again until 5pm. The inverter is no-where to be found.’

So we drove to the offices of our esteemed German marketeers and grabbed our documents and stickers and left the rest in the tangled hell that is the German postal service. The phone and the inverter will no doubt chase us across the entirety of Europe, only to finally reach us in the UK.

At least we were able to get moving again. And this we duly did.

 

Day 11 (21/11/00) – Fribourg, Switzerland - Frison

Finally made it to a non-EC country. This actually represents quite an achievement for us.

We find the venue without too much trauma. It is big and pleasant and strangely homely. It has obviously been around for a while because as we wander round we see posters advertising bands that have long since exploded. Nirvana, Soundgarden, Tad… even our own Pulkas have a mention on the wall.

Joe, George and I decide to investigate the town. And this we duly do. It is much as you assume Switzerland to be. Ornate, architecturally impressive and populated by retired rich people. We look somewhat out of place. We buy postcards and some sustenance from a supermarket and head back to the bus.

The show is tomorrow, but the venue staff have allowed us full access to the building today. They have also invited us to an ambient dance club they are holding this evening.

We prepare by watching The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. It, of course, rocks.

Some of the others venture into the aforementioned club, but I stay on the bus to watch American Yakuza and Ben Elton Live. The utilisation of power must be undertaken where possible.

A bottle of wine steadies my journey to bed and another day of the tour is written off.

 

Day 12 (22/11/00) – Fribourg, Switzerland - Frison

We wake late and grab breakfast in the venue. The show has now officially sold out. Cool.

Joe and I check out my amp and replace the blown fuse. We try the beast out. Instead of fixing the problem though, it has simply exasperated it. Instead of having no standby power, I now have no power at all.

We rig up Glassjaw’s stack and I am saved again.

The soundcheck is cool. Monitors sound awesome. We are buzzed.

After the most incredible feed (this venue is spectacularly well run), we warm up for the show. The venue is absolutely rammed.

Five minutes before stage time George nibs onstage to turn all the amps on. Joe’s amp fizzes and dies! Yes, you heard me right (or read me actually). JOE’S AMP DIES!

We are in shock. This is a statistical impossibility. The law of averages now dictates that we should never suffer an electrical fault in a household implement for the rest of our lives.

Glassjaw save us again.

The show is fantastic. The audience reacts like they actually know us and mayhem ensues. We are blown away by Swiss courtesy.

Glassjaw and Soulfly play like they are on fire and the show gets an all round thumbs up.

Dave and I battle our way into the auditorium at the end of Soulfly’s set to watch Karl do his, now obligatory, guest appearance on Pain.

Tonight Karl has chosen to wear the Blue Oyster Bar leather cap onstage. (See Pitchshifter tour diary for further information). Dave and I gawp in total horror. As the song reaches Karl’s verse Max turns to face him… and promptly pisses himself. He has to prop himself up on Marcello’s shoulder. It is a magical moment.

After the show we enjoy further displays of the management’s hospitality (more food, drinks and ‘herbs’). Then we begin the loadout.

But tonight the loadout is something special. A 4-piece band has set-up outside the venue and is playing away to the departing hordes. They are all dressed in the murderers outfit from Scream. And they only play drums! Yep, it is a rhythm band.

Each band member has a home-made harness from which his (or perhaps her) instruments are hung. One has a bass drum. One has a snare, hi-hat and cymbal. And the remaining two have roto-toms.

They blast through a variety of songs which are strangely recognisable even through they are adapted for drumplay. They are absolutely amazing.

They end with Refuse/Resist. They are called Scream4. They rock.

We drive overnight to Zurich. We get lost repeatedly.

 

Day 13 (23/11/00) – Zurich, Switzerland – Red Factory

Another day. Another Swiss gig. Another massive venue. Another litany of fuckups and impossible errors.

Today we have a dressing room to share with Glassjaw, so at least we have showers. The Red Factory is like a mini-arena. It has balconies, ramped standing areas and a mechanised lighting rig. It is also situated on the edge of a spectacular lake. The locale is unparalleled in terms of venue positioning!

After we have loaded in today, George takes the van to fill up with diesel. (We are driving through the alps tonight to get to Milan and few petrol stations will be open). He takes Karl with him to pay for it. He drives for ten feet and the engine begins to make a noise like grinding metal. He slams the brakes on.

In the back a bottle of wine flies off a chair and makes violent contact with a box containing a playstation. The bottle explodes. Karl starts cleaning it up. George starts driving again causing Karl to fly forwards and stick his hands into the broken glass. Pain is forthcoming.

They limp to the garage (with Karl dripping blood from his savaged hand) and get the fuel.

Back at the venue George breaks the bad news that our transport may be dying. We react with surprising calmness. Too much bad shit has conspired against us on this tour. We are stoic in the face of disaster.

We soundcheck while George attempts to find a mechanic.

Joe and I are ready to check our amps after replacing all the blown fuses. It is, of course, a pointless exercise. They refuse to work. We fall back on Glassjaw’s generosity once again.

As we head to the adjoining restaurant for our meal George appears and lifts one worry from our shoulders. It seems that the van is suffering a broken taco machine. So our engine may get us home yet.

The gig is odd. We take the stage to a smattering of Swiss metalheads and launch into Off Kilter. We are regarded with a complete sense of bewilderment. It seems that no-one was expecting any support bands. Also the venue has a 100db limit, so the sound is slightly louder than a hushed conversation.

But by time we get to Tat Twam Asi the hall has filled up and the vibe has ballooned into something good. Karl asks the audience if they know where we could open an offshore account. They don’t get it.

We load out and shower and wait for Karl to do his stint on Pain. Then we leave.

Obviously I would like to write that we sailed through the Alps and Italian customs and awoke refreshed in Milan. But I can’t. Instead, what happened is this…

George and Karl got us to the border at about 3am. They took the paperwork to the friendly Swiss official and got it stamped. Then they crossed over to speak to Italian customs.

The building they had been directed to was in total darkness.

Gingerly they opened the doors and ventured inside.

‘Hello, is anybody here?’ called George.

No response. Silence reigns.

‘Hello?’ a little more urgent this time.

Some faint stirrings sound from the dark. A very pissed off, obviously freshly awoken Italian customs official steps from the shadows.

‘Urg.’ He grunts.

‘Err hi. Do we need to speak to you about our cardnet?’ George intones.

‘Urg.’ He responds, somehow infusing the grunt with an evil intent.

‘Right, um, do you speak any English?’ George tries.

This time he doesn’t respond, just starts pointing at the paperwork that George is carrying. George hands it over.

Our Italian friend casts his eye over it then begins screaming (what we assume to be) torrents of invective.

George and Karl have zero idea what his problem is. They shrug at him.

By a tortuous process of pointing, spitting and huffing the petulant guard demonstrates that he wants to see the contents of our trailer. So the guys open it up. He points at random cases and says ‘open’. They do.

Eventually they get to the drum stands case. Once he has seen the contents the Italian goes nuts, saying that this stuff is not for musical equipment.

Beginning to lose their patience, Karl and George spell out the application of these accessories.

Our adversary slinks off.

‘Are we ok to go then?’ calls George.

’6,000 lire.’ Our chum sneers, over his shoulder.

It appears that we have to pay some kind of entrance tax. 6,000 lire is about £3! We offer to pay with German or British currency.

‘No – only in lire.’

But we don’t have any lire. We have been performing in German and Switzerland. So we offer up the credit card.

‘No – only cash.’

‘Well – we don’t have any!’

‘Then wait here until 7am when the bank opens.’

We look destined to be caught up in Italian bureaucracy forever. Our options are exhausted.

Luckily for us a much more friendly official comes over to the van and offers to change some German currency to Italian. Once this is done George storms back to the building - pays the man, gets the paperwork stamped and, gratefully, leaves.

But not before the passenger door of the bus sheers away from its bracket in Karl’s hand. The metal has corroded and the supporting runner is screwed. Somehow they manage to get the door shut again, but it will have to remain in that position for the rest of the tour.

This is getting stupid.

 

Day 14 (24/11/00) – Milan, Italy – Rolling Stone

All morning is spent negotiating our 40ft tour bus and trailer round the side streets of central Milano, trying to find a specific shop that has promised to check out our amps.

Eventually Joe and George find the place and we turf the offending items from the van. We head for the venue.

It is a pretty spectacular looking building. Shaped like a mini amphitheatre, it has steeply racked standing areas on all three sides. The rear balcony is a bar with full-length glass panels separating the auditorium from the serious drinkers, and the stage is huge.

While investigating we notice that throughout the venue there are posters advertising the album launch party for the new Linea 77 record. We want to play with those guys again.

We have a tiny dressing room to share with Glassjaw tonight. And though it may be modest in size it is well stocked with food and drink (including a bottle of vodka). We masticate enthusiastically.

Today I have a shed-load of interviews. Thomaso (from Audioglobe, our Italian distributor) meets me and organises the afternoon. While I am being probed and prodded by the Italian press, Karl and Joe head off with the venue’s runner to collect the amps.

It is two hours before they return. The shop is only situated two miles away. Milan has some pretty hefty traffic issues.

Consequently we don’t really soundcheck.

As the doors open we are excited. We love Italy. The people here are always kind to us and we seem to connect with the audiences better than anywhere else in the world.

Sadly at showtime we are unable to connect with anyone because our soundman and monitor-man are both missing from their posts.

A few choice words down tour manager Big Red’s walkie talkie and our entourage are in place.

The gig is amazing. A fiery and spirited response and the biggest audience we have ever played to in Italy. Gigs like this provide a balance to the pained antics of life on the road.

We are escorted to a restaurant after our performance and have an incredible meal. Then we drink vodka, shower and watch Soulfly.

As we load up our van after the show we get mobbed by kids. Karl imparticular is unable to escape their attentions. It is surreal. They eventually leave and I nip round the back of the van for a pre-travel urination stop. Mid flow I hear someone scream ‘earthtone9’, and suddenly a fresh bunch of Italian crazies are running down the street towards me. This is just too odd.

We share some of our beers with the people kind enough to tell us how much they enjoyed the show, and finally leave.

Hey – not a bad day.

 

Day 15 (25/11/00) – Rome, Italy – Palacsifica

At some point on the drive to Rome we had a side window smashed. Luckily the darkening film held all the pieces in place. We decide to secure it further with reams of gaffa tape. If it goes it will be very, very cold. Our daily piece of bad luck came early.

The venue is absolutely immense. It looks a bit like an aircraft hangar. It should be scary to play places like this, but for some reason it isn’t. It is just exciting.

We have a working landline, so I indulge in diary updates, computer play and movie watching. I also boil the kettle and nuke the microwave just because I can. It would be amazing to explore Rome but we are just too far away from anywhere.

I do an interview with Roberto from Psycho Magazine (our third this year) and we soundcheck.

As the sun begins to set and the crowds arrive, the immensity of today’s gig begins to dawn on us. Italy is our favourite place in the world and this now supersedes yesterdays show as the largest gig we have ever done here.

We take to the stage fully pumped. As we kick into I Nagual Eye the whole front of the venue starts leaping about. Star Damage continues the trend and Tat Twam Asi actually gets a huge cheer of recognition. Awesome gig.

When we play shows like this we feel that we can truly present our songs as we meant them to be heard. It is an interactive process and you always get the purest representations of a song when the audience produces energy to feed from. It sounds like a cliché but it is certainly true.

Anyway, we come offstage buzzing and allow us ourselves to be escorted to a neighbouring restaurant for a post-performance feed. Being vegetarian/vegan seems to be an unheard of oddity here. They feed us tomato pasta for starters and then provide the ludicrous main course of… hot spinach, runner beans and chips! Hell, it’s hot food.

We head back to the venue in time for Karl to do his stint on Pain, then we start piling the gear back into the van. Again we are accosted by scores of inebriated Italians. They are very kind. I think they find it funny that we are lugging our own gear about. Oh, if only they knew.

We leave as quickly as possible as the next gig is in Toulouse and that is twenty hours of driving away. Tomorrow may be a travel day but we want to get to the venue early and have a day off. So Karl gets behind the wheel and we head for the motorway.

The way out of the venue is a long, narrow dirt track populated with barriers. Just prior to joining the main road we encounter a particularly tight set of barricades. We think we can squeeze through. We can’t.

An evil metal screech accompanies our forward motion. The escaping hordes of Italian metalheads laugh. We burst free and cannon down the motorway. At the first available service station we stop to survey the damage. It looks minimal – a little scratch on the left-hand side and a tiny dent on the wheel arch. Close call.

We fill up with diesel and are about to set off when some one points out that our analysis of the damage was incomplete. In addition to the aforementioned vehicular lacerations we have also managed to rip a 6" hole in the tire. Should have realised that we would never have got off that easy.

We pull the bus out of the flow of the traffic and grab the spare tire. Unfortunately, although we have the spare tire, we don’t have a wheel brace or a jack. Oh, we did have them but when the bus returned from its service after the Pitchshifter tour, it returned without them. Thankyou very fucking much Mr Lightfingered Mechanic.

So we call Mario, Glassjaw’s loony Austrian driver, and beg for help. Luckily he has not left the venue yet, so we could be in business. Ten minutes later he pulls into the garage and the members of Glassjaw pour from the bus to laugh and point at us. Mario grabs his tools (if you’ll pardon the expression) and we get to work.

Sadly the wheel brace is too big. It is meant for coaches not vans. We ask at the garage and they dig one out. It is too small. It is meant for cars not vans.

We call the van-hire company to organise a mechanic. No-one answers the phones.

Mario and Glassjaw leave.

We sit in silence for hours. No one knows what to do. In the end there is nothing to do but go to bed.

 

Day 16 (26/11/00) – Rome, Italy – a garage somewhere past junction 30

All morning is spent trying to change the tire. There is still no answer at the van-hire company. No one is able to help us. Time ticks on.

At midday we finally get through to the hire firm and they promise that the breakdown services will arrive within the hour. ‘They better,’ we say, ‘We have a massive drive ahead of us.’

At 5pm we are still waiting.

Si wanders round the garage and comes across a mechanic working on a rally car. By the international language of pointing he manages to explain our predicament. The guy tells us to bring the van round.

We do. He wheels a big jack out and boosts the van up. Then he grabs an air-powered nut-gun and blasts the old tire off in seconds. Within minutes we are ready to roll. We give him some Lire and a whole heap of thanks.

Following this we have to drive continuously for nineteen hours. George and Karl alternate – doing four hour stints.

Incredibly we make it to Toulouse.

Another magical day on the road.

 

Day 17 (27/11/00) – Toulouse, France - Bikini

Despite having an outdoor swimming pool, incredible art-nouveau design and a bamboo protected toilet (don’t ask), today’s venue is a tad scary. Easily the smallest on the tour so far, it has a weird vibe that unnerves me.

We have a brief flirtation with power, but the venue cannot handle the requirements of all four vans so (being the lowest on the food chain) we lose the landline first.

Not that it matters too much. It is a beautifully sunny day and being outdoors is pleasant.

We laze around today – just recuperating from the stresses of our latest disaster.

When the time comes to set up we have to be inventive, as the stage is pretty small. Si puts his kit facing the side of the stage. Somehow we all squeeze on. No soundcheck today – just a line check.

Once this is done we get a superb feed from the staff. They have been creating a feast all day and it is very welcome indeed. Funny how important food becomes when you get so little of it.

At stage time we are dismayed to see about forty disinterested French faces staring at us. This looks like it is going to be bad.

We blast through Grind & Click. It sounds awful. The monitors we had during the line check have magically reset themselves. Karl looks very, very unhappy. The disinterested French faces continue to look disinterested.

Painfully we plough through the set. The audience thickens out considerably and they start to warm to us. But the atmosphere is so dead it feels like an ordeal. I am suitably pleased when our performance is over.

Not our best gig.

Fuck it – bring on Barcelona.

 

Day 18 (28/11/00) – Barcelona, Spain - Apolo

Today started well. The venue is a converted theatre and as such looks amazing inside. Scarlet crushed velvet curtains adorn the walls and spectator seating runs round the sides of the entire venue.

The backstage area is upstairs on a balcony behind the stage. I wander up there with George and we peruse the breakfast offerings. Taking hold of a fresh crusty french stick I decide to make myself a salad sandwich. In a moment of utter stupidity I slice my chunk of bread in half in my hand. Of course I manage to put a deep, deep cut on the first finger of my left hand.

I look up, a strange mixture of surprise and disappointment on my face, as blood spurts from the gash.

After ten minutes of sitting on the bathroom floor with the offending digit immersed in running water the flow of blood eases.

George performs emergency surgery and tapes the entire finger up. No blood seeps through so we consider it a success. Tonight’s gig might proof impossible though. No surprises there then.

While (finally) enjoying breakfast I spot Si and Karl approaching the buffet. Before I have a chance to explain what has happened, Si has sliced one of his fingers on the same bread knife.

Oh, how I laughed.

The rest of the day is a slow mix of boredom. Dave gets a visit from a fan he befriended on the Pitchshifter tour. He happens to work for a pornography company. Dave looks strangely happy with the ‘gift’ this guy brings. Hmmmm.

Infact Dave continues to grin all day until he slices his finger on the bread knife!

We all survive our injuries to soundcheck, and with nary a second to spare we are onstage for the real thing.

The crowd is being filtered in slowly so we do our best to welcome them into the confines of the venue with a pleasant tune or two. They are a great audience: throwing themselves about with a sense of conviction and singing the words like they wrote them. Spain is cool.

Afterwards we retire to the ‘behind-the-stage-balcony’ and watch Glassjaw and then Soulfly.

Karl has been asked to duet with Max on Terrorist tonight, so we are excited to see what happens. (Clearly we are all hoping that Karl will forget the words!).

He doesn’t and the venue absolutely erupts.

Amateur surgery aside, a great day.

 

Day 19 (29/11/00) – Madrid, Spain - Malumba

Situated above a ten-pin bowling alley, the Malumba is huge on a scale I find hard to describe. It is open plan with bars scattered everywhere and low-angle ramps running the entire length of the hall. On the extreme left side is an impressive stained glass design, which brings to mind the venues you always see in American movies.

The usual drill is followed (you know the score by now – eat / shower / loadin / soundcheck etc) and we are pumped for a big show.

We are due onstage at 8.30 with an 8 o’clock door, but by quarter past there is no sign of anyone entering the venue. Seconds later we see Big Red (tour manager – come on, pay attention at the back) laying into the promoter. He fights our corner, demanding the doors are opened immediately.

By the time we hit the first notes of Off Kilter the venue is pretty damn full. By the time we finish it, it is full. And it is quite a spectacular sight I can you. The enormity of this tour is rammed home quite succinctly.

Nothing else to report really.

Another day, another gig.

 

Day 20 (30/11/00) – Bergara, Spain – Sala Jam

We are pleased to be playing the Sala Jam, as we did it earlier in the year with Misery Loves Co, and it is a cool place.

We are also looking forward to catching up with Buddy, the huge black dog that guards the garage next door. On the Misery tour, Dave befriended the beast and we all wanted to smuggle it home on the bus.

Sure enough Buddy is tied up outside his kennel. We say our hellos and Dave scavenges meat from the breakfast buffet to feed him.

We leave Dave to it and go in to grab breakfast for ourselves.

It turns out that someone from either Glassjaw or our camp did some damage to the showers in Madrid, so our privileges get temporarily revoked. Thus for today at least we remain unwashed.

The Sala Jam is not just a venue, it also operates a restaurant, so we cannot load-in until late (3.30pm). Nevertheless we are all surprised (and dismayed) when it rolls around to 8pm and the doors cannot open because the PA is still not working properly. We are due on at half past and Soulfly haven’t even been able to soundcheck yet!

Being used to adversity we are relaxed about the whole thing. Soulfly’s camp are not so well prepared. They run a tight, well-oiled ship. Disaster is anathema to them. They do not seem happy.

As always, it sorts itself out. The rig gets fixed and we make it onstage (all be it half an hour late). The show is pretty cool considering. We make the set up as we go… reacting to the audience and their preferences. Due to the late start the venue is totally packed from the word go.

We finish with a frenzied Simon Says and leave to a wall of feedback.

Afterwards some kind-hearted persons from the kitchen throw us a meal together. We have a leisurely meal and some quiet drinks.

Once satiated we load up the van. The entire street is blocked with drunk Soulfly fans. It is a spectacular sight. We manage to manhandle our equipment through the hordes. Si is cornered and plied with gifts! He receives a plastic, squeaky hippo (?), a rubik’s sphere and a huge tin of anchovies. Surreal choice of gifts.

As the crowds slowly disperse George approaches us with some good news. Apparently the venue have agreed to give us a landline overnight, so we can watch movies and relax! It just gets better and better.

But before we can retire we are entertained by Danny and Matt (Glassjaw’s road crew). Matt has purchased a bottle of absinthe and is excited about drinking it the traditional way (ie mixed with cool water and slightly caramelised sugar). We sit in the street outside the venue and mix a few up.

However this proves to be insufficient for Danny. He wants to swig it straight from the bottle. After a few quaffs he goes slightly glassy eyed. For his next trick he takes a huge mouthful and sprays it through the flame of a lighter. A ball of flame lights up the night. We are duly impressed. Especially since it is a freezing night with hurricane force gales. If the wind changed direction once it would be curtains for Danny’s eyebrows.

Their party tricks exhausted the Glassjaw troops depart. We ready ourselves for movies and gratuitous power wastage.

But before we can get started we spot three young girls huddled on the steps of the venue. We ask how they are getting home and they explain that they have to stay the night and catch a bus in the morning. We are freaked. It is absolutely freezing. They are not going to be safe outside.

We let them sleep on our bus. There is not enough room, but we cannot leave them outside.

We squeeze on and find a video that we can all watch (Physical Graffiti – the tattooing / extreme sports flick) and settle down.

The titles roll.

We are plunged into total darkness.

The venue have pulled the power on us.

We hammer on the door of the Sala Jam.

No response.

We drink a few bottles of wine in the darkness and go to bed.

Anyone surprised?

 

Day 21 (01/12/00) – somewhere in France

We wake to discover that the three ladies have left. But there is a cool note expressing their gratitude. It is nice to be able to help people out. It feels like we are repaying some of the positive karma that has come our way.

Today is a travel day. We have to get from Bergara to Paris.

We drive. That’s it.

 

Day 22 (02/12/00) – Paris, France – Elysee Montmatre

Awake to find us parked on the main road outside the venue. George has done well to procure us a space. Strangely the Elysee Montmatre is about 200 yards down the same street as the Boule Noire (the venue we played with Pitchshifter a few weeks prior).

I venture inside with Dave. It is huge.

While getting some breakfast we bump into Joe. He has Natalie (one of our favourite french sisters – see Pitchshifter diary for more details) with him. She has come all the way from Lyon to see us and is staying in a hotel tonight. Sadly her sister, Sabrina, could not afford to do the same.

We hang out with Natalie until forced to load in. We can’t soundcheck because Glassjaw have all our power converters (not to mention our sound engineer) at an instore they are doing at the Hard Rock Café. So we set our equipment up and relax in the dressing room.

The local crew start to get worried – there is a sound curfew after 5pm and we are likely to get no soundcheck. They decide to solve the problem. They find us converters and the friendly face of a local appears behind the mixing desk.

We soundcheck. It sounds great. As soon as we stop the doors open and the crowds flood in.

No time to do anything else before we play. It is a frighteningly early performance. We are due onstage at 6.40pm!!!

As we warm up in the dressing room we can hear the booming chant of ‘Soulfly! Soulfly!’. We begin to get scared. This does not sound like a crowd who is open to experiencing new music.

We risk a peek at the mob. They appear thirsty for blood. Plastic bottles and t-shirts fly through the air. They are certainly a boisterous lot.

With the bit between our teeth we take to the stage. We are confident that we can last for a meagre thirty minutes.

As the opening notes of I Nagual Eye ring out we witness a sight unlike anything we have ever experienced before. About five hundred people are jumping, screaming and creating mayhem. We stare at one another totally gobsmacked. The response is more ferocious than at any show I can remember playing.

As the song finishes the sheer volume of the cheer is enough to make our hair fly backwards.

From out of nowhere we appear to be playing the show of our lives.

The set flies by and creates one highlight after another. It is just an incredible show.

I am really pleased that Natalie is here to see it (finally a good show in France) and sad that Sabrina missed it.

As it is such an early show we are out and on the street by 11pm. We go for a meal with Natalie, still very much on a high from the gig.

 

Day 23 (03/12/00) – Brussels, Belgium – Ancienne Belgique

We have mentioned some pretty impressive venues on this tour, but none compare with the Ancienne Belgique. It is state of the art in the extreme.

The floor in front of the stage can be hydraulically powered up to stage level, so all equipment can be easily loaded in. There are five (count ‘em) dressing rooms. Each comes equipped with a gleaming fridge, Ikea style clothing racks, lockable draws, huge mirrors etc etc. The catering area is immense with two chefs creating gourmet food the likes of which I could never usually afford. A massive television runs constantly in the ‘lounge’ area and offers the choice of MTV, BBC1 and 2, CCN and a host of foreign channels. There are two levels of balcony in the venue and a racked seating set-up on the back wall.

The last band to play here was The Offspring.

We load-in and attack the catering area.

It is a slow day. The soundcheck is particularly frightening because the hall is so big that our monitors are rendered useless by the bounce back of the PA sound. But, hey, we can live with that.

At gig time we are waiting in the wings. We cannot start because our soundman is missing. No-one can find him. Eventually he is tracked down to an upstairs room. He is getting a Shiatsu massage. He tells us to start without him. How quaintly unprofessional.

We kick off anyway. All the advertising fails to mention our inclusion on the bill, so we are hardly surprised that no-one knows who we are. But the crowd are warm and we have a good time.

After a five star meal and a shower, we relax in the beautiful surrounds of the Ancienne Belgique. I, in particular, require some relaxation because of the sights I witnessed on leaving the shower. And that would be four of Glassjaw stripped naked, taking pseudo-homosexual pornographic polaroids. Call it English repression if you like, but I would be uncomfortable about balancing my genitalia on any of my band mates shoulders. Even if it was for a joke.

I head for the ‘lounge’ area to recover from this shock and promptly bump into Metal Hammer scribe Dan Lane and photographer ????????. They are out doing a feature on the tour. By the tour I mean, Soulfly and Glassjaw. We appear to be too small to be detected.

We chin for a few hours then head our separate ways. We have a landline for the night, so we intend to watch movies till our eyes bleed.

But first George and Si fancy a quick walk to the cathedral near the venue. It is illuminated at night and even from a distance looks spectacular. They shoot off and we put our feet up.

Two minutes later and Si is hammering on the bus door shouting at the top of voice to ‘get out here NOW!’. We pile out to witness George squaring up to two very pissed looking Belgian chaps plus a smattering of girlfriends.

Si hastily explains that as they walked past this group they were accosted because of their passes. The euro-nuts wanted to see the security permits hanging round their necks. George duly obliged. The nuts were blathering on in whatever language they speak.

Then, out of the blue, one of the blokes smacked George in the face. He then took a swing at Si. Luckily for our boy, the assailant was hugely fat (not to mention mulleted and decidedly Germanic looking in a comic fashion), and not fast enough to make the lunge land.

At this point Si grabbed us and George took to threatening the bodily safety of the idiot who hit him.

We arrived and tried to calm the situation down, but an unprovoked attack by an unrepentant moron had us all fired up. The second Belgian was insistent that we just leave. He was holding his mate back. Another couple of their friends appeared. We explained that we could not leave, and as they obviously had homes to go to, why didn’t they just turn round and go to them.

The second bloke attempted a feeble karate kick at George (who incidentally studies Tai Kwon Do). The next thing I know, Dave has exploded like a Tasmanian Devil. He lamps the second guy, ducks a punch and connects a kick that will leave an apple size bruise on his own leg in the morning.

Meanwhile Karl has picked up the fat guy and dropped him on the ground. George has applied a restraining leg to his neck and is pounding on him with brutal blows. A third Belgian attacker launches himself at George.

Luckily Si and I (plus the Belgian girlfriends) manage to wade in and quickly break the scrap up. The guilty parties speedily disappear up the street, no doubt smarting from the pain of a lesson well learnt.

I detest violence. But unprovoked idiotic attacks are the lowest of the low. How sad and empty must your life be to get your kicks this way?

Anyway, George and Si finally get to see the Cathedral and the rest of us relax on the bus.

While we still have power we blast through The Jackal and Crying Freeman. The wine we are drinking helps improve our impressions of the movies.

Good night.

 

Day 24 (04/12/00) – Tilburg, Holland – 013

Third time in 013 this year. This time however we are in the big room. Bit more scary.

It is a huge venue with numerous dressing rooms scattered across it’s many levels. Hence we get our own room today.

Some of our entourage (and many of Soulfly’s) investigate the horticultural markets of Tilburg.

Sadly I do too, and subsequently I can remember nothing about the day.

I think the show was good though! 

 

Day 25 (05/12/00) – Nottingham, UK – Rock City

Back to our homeland. Nice to see that the new issue of Kerrang has a four page feature (not to mention cover picture) on the Soulfly/Glassjaw tour. Sadly for us we do not warrant a mention. So in case you didn’t know – we were actually on this tour too.

The show was one of the worst of the tour. Doors opened fifteen minutes before we played and subsequently the venue was pretty empty when we started. You’d think that playing a hometown show would be good, wouldn’t you? Well, I could happily never play a show in Nottingham again. The response was flaccid and uninspired.

Strangely when the American band Glassjaw hit the stage the response was electric.

Pardon our nationality.

Fuck you.

 

Day 26 (06/12/00) – Glasgow, UK - Garage

Today is a little tense. After the disappointment of the first UK date we are all on edge and very uncommunicative. That said, it is cool to be in Scotland.

Dave and I spend a leisurely afternoon in a coffee shop, chatting and chilling out. Everyone else does whatever it is they do to relax.

Somewhere along the line we seem to have a non-verbalised disagreement, as at showtime Dave is no-where to be found. As our set time ticks down we begin a search for the hapless four-stringer. Ten minutes in and he appears looking less than happy. Seems something has ticked him off. But we never find out what!

Anyway, we take to the stage and blast out a truncated, but beautifully formed (cough) set. We spot our friend Yazman in the audience (who has been attending a conference in Edinburgh all day), along with Scottish loons One Root. Friendly faces – it makes all the difference.

Despite our problems and obvious fatigue the Glasgow audience are warm and supportive.

Hey, it all turned out ok!

 

Day 27 (07/12/00) - London, UK - Astoria

It feels like a serious honour to play the Astoria. A lot of very cool bands have come across these hallowed boards (if you’ll pardon the expression). We wander the empty venue, wiling away the hours by stealing one of Soulfly’s scooters and thrashing it up and down the auditorium.

The show is obviously important to us –the magazines are reviewing it, and it is our chance to explain to people that we have actually been on the whole tour. So we are itching for a soundcheck… but it looks unlikely to be!

Andrea explains that we will have to line check before going on and wanders off to find food. Minutes later an in-house guy says that actually we can check. So he gets us going. All very strange.

Anyway, the day runs its usual course and before too long we are treading the aforementioned boards. The sound appears to have morphed into a featureless sludge that no individual instrument can escape, the audience is (slowly but surely) filing in and the tour is (for us) very obviously coming to a close.

Karl’s voice almost dies completely in the first song, so set stalwart Tat Twam Asi is dropped. (It’s just too high lurvies)!

We finish in yet another cliché-ridden hail of feedback and head for the dressing room. We are surprised, and not a little touched, to discover that Max and Gloria have left a very nice bottle of champagne in our room as a token of thanks. What, exactly, they have to thank us for is a mystery, but we are grateful all the same.

We say our goodbyes to our new American chums and head back to the wilds of Nottingham. Strangely we seem more than happy to leave the confines of our little white bus. Wonder if we’ll ever see it again?